Feeding the Fire
by enaskoritsi
Summary: She could see where their dizzying steps were leading, but she refused to acknowledge it. She could hear the taunting cackles of the flames, but she closed her ears to their warnings. But Mrs. Lovett had to believe it. He forced her to.
1. Feeding the Fire

_Disclaimer_ : I do not own Sweeney Todd : The Demon Barber of Fleet Street or anything associated.

.:. _Feeding the Fire_ .:.

-----------------------------------

"_Die! Die! God in heaven, die!"_

Wretched, doomed hands clutched at the folds of her dress, ripping the fabric as he desperately clung to the life that they both knew was rapidly seeping from the jagged gash on his jugular. The thick, scarlet substance spilled at their feet like a vengeful river, tainting all in its path with its poisonous stain. Frenzied shrieks ripped through the air, filling the silence with panicked screams that overran the begging moans from the dying man fading away on the floor.

Mrs. Lovett yanked the cloth of her skirt free, backing away with a few horror-filled hoarse gasps, her eyes widening as the judge's own glazed over, and his frantic movements ceased. Gulping a sharp intake of breath, she tore her gaze from those dulled orbs, glancing towards the other body that lay twisted on the cold floor. Sweeping her attention over the figure sloppily, she was about to desert the scene when something made her freeze.

Stepping over the tormented corpse, she knelt down, her aching knees scraping against the rough, coarse stones. Mrs. Lovett peered into the face protected by a bloodied mask, taking in the filthy features, finally at peace. The once fair pale skin was weathered and diseased, and soiled matted hair replaced strands that had once been...yellow.

Shrinking back with a snarl of disgust, Mrs. Lovett brought a hand to her mouth, trying to stifle the horrendous feeling of nausea that was rolling through her stomach painfully. Staring down at a defeated enemy that had resurfaced, a curse, her voice trembled as she spat out a low,

"_You..."_

Sudden claps of oncoming thunder burst through the walls, warning its mistress desperately. She stumbled to her feet, hysteria freezing her limbs and mind as she stared down at the ruined body before her. Something inside of her snapping, Mrs. Lovett snatched up the dirty arms of the victim, trailing the carcass across the room and towards the hungrily awaiting oven. As a burning spread from her elbows to her shoulders, Mrs. Lovett could barely budge the feather-light hag; her muscles were too weak and her strength, nonexistent.

"_What is it? Why did you scream?"_

Dropping the body in fright, Mrs. Lovett turned around nervously, a tremor of surprise slinking down her spine.

The ghostly man across the room waited, his dark, fervent eyes boring holes into the wide, gaping ones of his accomplice. Raindrops trailed down his face and cheeks, painting his white skin with crisscrossing, rusty cobwebs. A shimmering razor laughed, tightly secured in his tainted hand, its mocking shine covered with a deadly, dripping case.

Mrs. Lovett's quick eyes flickered from the bodies scattered on the floor back to the face of the man she loved, smoothing down her skirts in a pitiful attempt to soothe her nerves.

"_He was clutching, holding on to my dress...but he's finished now."_

Mr. Todd nodded distractedly, his bloodshot eyes trailing along the floor with detachment, unaware to the fear he was arousing to the only other living occupant of the room. Stepping forward, he circled the fallen body, the beggar woman he had cut down as payment for her intrusion. Glancing for a second on her ratty attire, he wrinkled his noise in disgust before flicking his eyes to the yearning oven. He stooped down halfway, tentatively plucking her up by her flea-bitten limbs and gestured towards the door with his head.

"_Open the doors."_

Mrs. Lovett bit her lip, the bruises under her sleepless eyes growing more prominent as they bugged out of her head, her face looking more like a skull than it ever had. Freezing on the spot, she did nothing to obey, for once not leaping with obedience to fulfill her love's demands. After a few stiff seconds, Sweeney Todd gave her a furious glare of bewilderment, repeating with venom as he gave her an impatient push,

"_Open the doors I said!"_

Stumbling and barely catching herself in time to avoid the heated iron scorching her vulnerable back, Mrs. Lovett tried to still the guilty shaking of her body as she forced open the door, her body screaming in agony. Hearing the grating creak, she retreated from the overpowering heat that shot out with starving tendrils, ready to snatch up the nearest victim to feed its insatiable hunger.

A foreboding frost chilled the air as she stood, wringing her hands in anxiety, like a worrying wife waiting for news of her faithful husband.

Except there was no wife here, just a desperate widow who couldn't bear the thought of loving alone.

Neither was a faithful husband present, but a vengeful widower who did not know that he had created such an identity for himself with his own two hands, his own two fouled, condemning hands.

Mr. Todd began dragging the body like troublesome cargo towards the awaiting grave, letting out a frustrated stream of words as he tripped, causing the head to be thrown back and into the light provided by the fire's malevolent glow.

Mrs. Lovett couldn't hold back the terrified whimper that clawed its way up her throat, leaving the skin scratched and aching. Pressing her palms into her mouth to keep silent, it didn't seem to make a difference, for blank eyes were already refocusing...

Remembering...

Recognizing.

As he reached out a shaking hand, Mrs. Lovett wanted to shout and cry and pull out the very hair from her head in the anguish she couldn't contain.

_No, no, no!_

Wretched fingers curled around knotted, tangled tendrils of hair, revealing a face with clumsy movements. The gasp filled the room, taking up every inch of space until there was no room to breathe. Mrs. Lovett could feel herself choking, her throat closing up as pressure built inside of her until she was ready to burst into a thousand broken pieces.

"_Don't I know you, she said..."_

Her heart cracked a little, tiny veins breaking the still beating hope apart from the inside. It sank like a stone inside of her, causing tiny ripples of hope to wash out, only to crash cruelly against the shore. She curled one hand toward him subconsciously, wanting to touch him, for him to hold her and promise to love her as she loved him. There was still a chance, wasn't there? Poor Lucy was dead, and it was too late to change that. He could still be hers, couldn't he?

"_I was only thinking of you..."_

It was true; he had to believe her! How could he live with the knowledge of what his wife had become, nothing more than a loathsome urchin, wandering the streets like a nomad, with no place to call home? It had been better that way, with a chance for a new life. He would've been free this way, free to live again, free to love...and be loved.

He lifted his eyes from the fallen body of his once beautiful Lucy, focusing on the woman who had taken his trust and pierced it, torturing it into some grotesque shape without an once of humanity.

Those eyes...

The bloodshot irises were wide and disbelieving, almost innocent in their questioning but knowing stare. As she was pulled in, forced to looked closer, the coal rims were filled with fear and disgust, aimed at the witch who had forsaken him.

It was the pupils that ripped her heart out even further.

Those black pupils, dark as sin, swam with the most bitter betrayal one could ever imagine. Their deadly, virulent glare sliced through her with pernicious rage, a viperous cover for the last emotion lurking within. Intertwined with that anger was a sadness, the most complete misery and mourning that human eyes could convey, that a soul could feel. Those motions churned inside of the darkness, condemning her for her treachery and deceit, a force so great that the man before her seemed inhuman; a demon.

"_You lied to me..."_

Pieces of her heart began to crumble, sifting into dust even while she still lived and breathed. Trepidation and alarm shot through her; she had not lied, not once! She had only protected him, shielded him from unnecessary knowledge that would only have harmed him! How could he blame her? She, who had done all that he asked, helped him carry out his schemes without question, who had stayed by his side every damning step of the way to Hell!

She who had only loved him.

It was sudden and unexpected.

He was rounding on her in seconds, nearing her with a predatory stance of narrowed eyes and a stealthy gait. The sight sent chills down her spine, causing her to retreat against the wall in fright as he grinned at her, the expression sizzling with some emotion she could not recognize.

All worry was forgotten as he touched her, cradling his body against her own in a wonderful dance. Mrs. Lovett was filled with bliss, euphoria, as she saw all the promises in his eyes, pleasant eyes now. The feeling of his hands on her arms, guiding her, was enough to send her senses in a whirl as she smiled, throwing herself into the act that promised a life together.

She could see where their dizzying steps were leading, but she refused to acknowledge it.

She could hear the taunting cackles of the flames, but she closed her ears to their warnings.

She could smell the caustic scent of charcoal and ash, but she was sure the room was drenched in it.

She could feel the heat against her back, sinking through her dress, but she wouldn't believe it.

But Mrs. Lovett had to believe it.

He forced her to.

Suddenly, her feet were lifted off the ground, and her eyes flew open out of their dreamy state as she felt herself soaring through the air. Everything seemed to freeze. She could see that smile, slowly turning sinister and menacing, and most of all, horribly pleased. The sight caused her heart to ache, crumbling even more than it already had, leaving her with barely anything at all.

It all sped up again as her back crashed into the cooking trays lining the exterior, causing her to cry out in agony while the scalding metal seared into her delicate skin, imprinting itself into the roasting flesh.

Shrieking in horror and uttermost torment, she reached out her hands, now blackening claws, towards the opening, only to have it thrown in her face with a deafening bang. Continuing to howl and plead in the only way she could, she writhed in torture as the fire licked at her body, singeing and melting everything it could. The tears she might've cried evaporated as soon as they leaked out of her eyes, despising the sorrow that welled within her soul.

Her burnt body began to disintegrate, just like her barely beating heart, and the chaos and pandemonium of her mind reached its peak. Somehow, as if the heavens decided on one last final retribution, she could hear the sweetest, comforting words from outside. Those were the words of lovers as they lay in each other's arms, of soul mates as they found each other in a world destined to pull them apart.

Words she had always dreamed one man would say.

Now she could hear them, but it brought her no joy.

Just as her consciousness slipped away, another noise broke through the sugar-spun soliloquy. It was a sound she had come to recognize, look forward too.

A gleaming razor sliding through unsuspecting flesh.

And she knew.

And whatever was left of her heart collapsed, leaving her body to follow.

-----------------------------------

_Author's Note_ : Ah well, that didn't turn out as I had hoped it would. It definitely isn't my best, but I do like how the ending came out. If I were to judge it, I'm most dissatisfied with the beginning, but I'm not sure how to change it to my liking.

I am aware that the lines of dialogue are probably not accurate to either the play or the movie, but it was from memory and I gave it my best shot. Honestly, I don't mind because it fits into my writing fine.

I know there are a lot of these Lovett-burning-thought-things, but I just felt like writing another to add to the pile. :) I am also unaware of how long it takes a body to burn in order to be fully dead, and if you do, just ignore it for the sake of this story please.

Please leave a review. It would be very kind.


	2. Ashes to Ashes

_Disclaimer_: I do not own Sweeney Todd : The Demon Barber of Fleet Street, or anything associated.

.:. Ashes to Ashes .:.

-------------------------------------

The blood spilled from her throat with an unusual silence, the streams sinking straight down her skin in a scarlet waterfall of panic. There were no quick juts of pressure that often resulting in ragged spurts of the betrayed source of life, nor was there a light sprinkling of red that often burst from the tear as well. Instead the tainted tears fell quietly, staining the already filthy clothes that hung on her miserable frame, and matching the hollow, bewildered look in her glassy, clouded eyes. As the fountain began to die, the last ruby drops clung to her soiled, dirty locks of hair, spilling out from a tattered hat that barely clung to her head with weak, gnarled fingers.

Sweeney Todd observed with a wary glance, paying more attention to the oncoming, impatient footfalls that could be heard from below. Stepping around the bleeding corpse in disgust and haste, his heel crashed onto the metal device it had been itching to meet. With an almost soundless shriek of rusty metal on wood, the lifeless, possibly already rotting body dropped through the shaft with an undignified landing, miniscule cracks revealing the smashing of bone.

Lithe movements had him facing the door as his visitor appeared in the doorway, aged eyes glowing in anticipation and a disgusting fire of lust that should have burnt itself out years ago. All it took were a few admiring words and porcelain promises to have the judge in his grasp, reclining happily the awaiting chair that would soon hold only a revolting sack of dribbled blood and torn flesh. A relaxed sigh bubbled out of his prey's throat, causing the predator to smile a sick grin that couldn't be seen behind his façade of pleasantries and friendship.

This mask did not slip as the process began, deft fingers gliding up and down in a soothing motion, the gentle feel of a silver caress luring its quarry in a security that would soon twist itself into his demise. It began to crack as the seconds dragged by, the nimble hands of the barber beginning to almost visibly shake with anticipation, but still he was trained in his goal to keep these imperfections from being noticed.

Finally, dragging the obedient razor over the vulnerable, pampered skin once more, he stood back, giving an already, but unknown to himself, dead man his final words. His vision began to blur even as his lips moved in a cordial reply, a hazy film overtaking his vision as suppressed rage raced under his skin. No longer could he hide the horror from himself, repress images of his trusting wife, turned on by one who she had given only an ounce of precious trust. Pictures of his bonny child formed under his bruised eyelids as he blinked, time standing still in the form of a golden haired baby with her endearing grin that always appeared when her loving father took her into her arms.

His voice inflection began to change, but the judge did not notice it, so blinded was he with his pathetic fantasies and pompous pride. The words came out more harsh and biting, and finally he revealed it all, stepping closer to the man to watch those eyes open in recognition. Sweeney Todd felt his pulse race as Judge Turpin's eyes grew wide, not only with shock, but with a wretched, inescapable fear that caused his killer to only grip his partner tighter.

_Benjamin Barker…_

Those untrue words rang through the air until they were sliced in half by the silver blade that embedded itself into tender, unprepared skin. A hopeless, choking sound filled the air as the criminal gagged on his own blood, the rest gushing from the incision with cries of pain and terror. Gritting his teeth, Sweeney Todd slashed again, digging the razor as deep as it could go before dragging it through the judge's throat. More crimson fate revealed itself as the man retched, but still, he was not satisfied.

His original anger was rampant now, as uncontrollable as a wildfire, and as destructive to all in its path. However, like an accomplice in crime, this fury boiled with a new addition to its source, causing bubbles of heated hatred to sizzle and burst upon the wounded mess before him.

The judge had called him Benjamin Barker, a name reserved for a defeated man, a man who lay in the hidden recesses of Sweeney Todd's mind, his grave holding nothing more than maggot-ridden limbs and a withered, dusty heart. Benjamin Barker had lived in a world of color, of love and love and of all things that were good and right. Sweeney Todd had been born out of truth, a being who could finally acknowledge what society truly was; only a corrupt pit of jealously and hate, all buried under a stifling cover of lies. To call him Benjamin Barker was to pretend again, to remind a broken man of a time where he had been whole and free, and even though he had screamed this back in affirmation, it was more a mocking last laugh than an identity now.

Breathing heavy, deep intakes of air, Sweeney Todd's chest rose and fell slowly as he stepped back, taking in the begging expression that had replaced a smug, self-confident face. His lips, once useless and empty, could not stop the maniac smile of vengeance and retribution that painted itself onto his pale face. There would be no mercy in him now, no pity for the one who had spared none for an innocent man, an honest man. When no compassion was given to the pure, it was only fair that those with blackened, putrid souls received the same treatment.

His heel met the steel pedal once again in an embrace, dark, haunting eyes watching hungrily as the tortured body slide down; down, down to a fiery hell of his own creation, a grave he had dug itself day by day once he took satisfaction in what had not belonged to him.

Then there was a peace, a mind-numbing sensation that Sweeney Todd had never known. It liberated him completely, and the heaviness on his shoulders, if not on his heart, lightened. Closing his eyes and kneeling onto the scratched floor, joy he thought he would never feel again bloomed inside of withered fields, rain finally ghosting the air after a lifetime of drought.

Flawless glass can be reduced to hideous splinters with only a careless touch, and this pacification was the same. The hushed sound of a gasp, the tiny creaking of hinges, that was all that was necessary for the relief to be shattered.

Almost relaxed eyes snapped opened fully, their black depths dragging the unfortunate soul to an undeserved face. Ruthless hands grasped the youth that had foolishly revealed himself, throwing the thin body into a chair that was still soaked in another's blood. The blade molded itself back into his virulent grip, prepared to slice open another throat to compensate for the sorrow that still flowed inside of him.

Leaning forward, Sweeney Todd ignored the jumble of fearful mumblings that tumbled out of the boy's mouth, seeing only a stupid mistake that had meandered where he hadn't belonged and seen what he wasn't meant to see. He held his razor to the boy's neck, taunting him harshly without care, pausing for a second when he looked into those huge eyes.

They were blue, a deep blue full of depth and something hidden that he could not decipher. This was not what had stopped the man though. Something about those eyes struck him in a way he could not comprehend, freezing his form and weakening his purpose to almost nothing. They almost seemed familiar.

This indecision was snapped in two by the sound of crazed shrieks and howls from below, causing the man to flicker his veiled eyes to the face of a nervous, but possibly harmless loose end. Forcing himself to back away with nothing more than a bitter threat, he fled from the room like a specter from a fairytale, taking the steps two at a time in a rush.

He slammed the door open, frustration shooting from his fingers and amplifying his strength as he entered the heated room. Mrs. Lovett greeted him with her owl-like eyes and versatile lips, usually sweetened with a smile, downcast into a gaping hole. Her hands were buried in cloth, tugging at the rags of a corpse's dress hurriedly, but her frantic movements ceased when his eyes fell upon her.

Noticing the struggle to rid the room of evidence better left forgotten, he pushed her unhelpful form to the side roughly, ordering her to open the doors with a curt command that she hesitated to obey, but did in the end. Heaving the body into his arms, trying to keep the revolting form as far away from himself as possible, he began to drag her towards the inevitable. However, his process was tedious and slow, brought altogether to a halt as he stumbled, causing the almost severed head to fall back.

Glaring down in loathing, the expression froze icy on his face as her features fell into the light. Kneeling onto the ground slowly, he placed the battered body gently beside him, lifting one trembling hand to curl itself into her hair. He brushed the strands to the side, watching as they began to glow faintly in the glow of the fair, true cornflower hair revealing itself under layers of grime and hardship that had died it a dull brown.

Shifting the other tresses to the side with care, he stared down at a face that had been imprinted into his memory. The elegant slope of her nose matched the picture in his mind, following with the tender curve of lips that had once been a fair, rosy pink. He traced a murderer's hand along her face with a lifetime of longing, remembering the way her face would light up in a smile when he surprised her with a present, even if they couldn't afford it with ease, or the absolute bliss on her face when their daughter was born, blessing them both with a love and adoration they had never experienced.

His grip grew tighter, forcing the body to his own with only misery and love, all revolution fading like light dust in the wind. An already warped mind tried desperately to fit the pieces together, needing some explanation for why it was his wife who lay broken in his arms, and not some meaningless beggar woman. The air was crushing, invisible lead baring down upon him relentlessly until he wanted to tear off his own skin and claw out his own eyes.

It all made sense in such an instant that for a second the explanation remained enigmatic. A pitiful cry lifted him out of the fog, and he looked up to meet Mrs. Lovett's pleading stare.

"_Love me_," she begged without words. "_Forgive and forget_."

A well known feeling filled him so completely that it only hurt all the more to recognize it.

Betrayal.

Sweeney Todd had returned to London with no fallacies, dumping all his dreams and beliefs into the sea without remorse. Finding his wife nothing more than a shushed memory had reduced his heart to nothing more than jagged pieces with no possibility of ever being mended. All he needed, or wanted, was compensation. If those with higher power would not punish, he would gladly take it upon himself to deliver punishment to those who skimmed through life with privilege.

He had been ready to task this task alone, force his own way through a crowd of horrid sin until he could find the other side, but _she _had attached herself to his side. Mrs. Lovett, ready to do all she could to make him happy, to bring a smile to a face too hardened to smile again. Mrs. Lovett, assisting him in trials where he might have found no answers, his source of information and knowledge, the one who had told him it all with that sorrow in her lying, scheming face.

She had never been on his side, not once working for what he had been striving for. She was as terrible as the judge himself, condemning Lucy to this unknown death for her own selfish reasons, trying to keep something that was not hers to have. And even though fury became present and consuming, Sweeney Todd could not ignore the misery that joined it hand in hand.

He had, foolishly, trusted in Mrs. Lovett, the neighbor always waiting down below. He had believed her words with a simpleton's affirmation, when he should have known.

There was no one to trust in this world.

Faith was only a macabre joke, a laugh in the faith of truth.

No one was worth sparing.

So he stared at her with those accusing eyes, her excuses and explanations only causing him to clench his teeth and close his ears from her lies, poisonous, toxic lies. He could never trust her again.

Charcoal eyes opened, this time with a loving haze, and previously kneeling legs soon carried him across the room to where she waited. He held her delicately in his arms, twirling her around the way he had when they had laughed together, planned together.

The very image made him sick now.

Sweeney Todd smiled at her with promise, spinning her as she laughed, gazing up at him with such simpering adoration that he could barely keep his sanity. Glancing over his shoulder, his grip became tighter so she could not escape, and his practiced steps were all he needed to toss the wretch inside to an awaiting ashy demise.

He stepped back immediately as not to join her as the flames ravished the one who had once ruled them, but with one hand on the door, he did not close it right away.

He wanted to see her burn, watch her white skin turn black and crusted, like her heart. He wanted to watch her hair reduce to cinders, and for her limbs to become nothing more than knotted, contorted claws, unforgiving. Most of all, he wanted to watch her eyes, turned to him in shock and the uttermost sadness, the betrayal he felt shining through the melting pools. It made his eyes glow with a tortured light. They were both betrayed in the end, by each other, the one they had trusted most.

Sweeney Todd could find nothing more fitting.

Eventually, he did shut the door, her painful screaming beginning to grate on his eyes undeservingly. Slamming the iron casket shut, and locking it with a taunting finish, he stared back in for the last time, admiring the way her body burned with all its hopeless flailing. The view closed with a resounding click, refusing to disgrace the world with her presence any longer.

The adrenaline and hatred melting off of his marble form, it came to a surrounding, useless pool around his feet. Lost eyes focused once more on the crumbled body in the corner, and he could do nothing else but hold her to him as a choking feeling grew in his chest, a pain stabbing what perhaps was all that remained of his heart.

Staring down at her bloodied, diseased skin, Benjamin Barker had seen nothing more beautiful.

That was why, when he heard the footsteps behind him, he did not care that he had dropped his razor for anyone to snatch. It did not matter that he could hear the blade drag upon the floor with a chilling warning, or that the feeling of another behind him again tried to alert him to his fate.

All he needed was to hold his wife closer and to lift his own neck up to he who would finally judge him. For a split second, he wondered if there was a heaven or a hell, and if so, would the devil be so heartless as to separate them again?

Closing his eyes into unseeing slits, he could almost laugh, knowing that none of it mattered. He was a demon, his wife an angel, and if the tales were true there was no hope, none at all.

There was a quick blooming of pain, and for a moment he could hear his own blood dripping out of the wound in a sickening drizzle. As his head fell forward, he noticed in his last seconds that the scarlet was raining open his wife's awaiting face, condemning her, spoiling her.

So ironic, it seemed.

Even in death, her innocence unable to save her, did his own sins spill upon her, and curse her. He could not hide from it, the truth that was as clear as his own face in the sparkling blade of his razor.

It was his fault, and there was no one else to blame.

--------------------------------------------

_Author's Note_ : This is not really a continuation of the previous chapter, but I wanted to also write a bit about Sweeney's death. Since the two topics of the same, I decided to simply place them together due to their relation. I also have a desire to write about Toby's ending, however I don't know if I should. Maybe? Yes? No?

The desire to write this came from disappointment actually. I happened to see a very touching Sweeney Todd video that actually made me begin to cry. I tried to share this with my friends, who haven't seen Sweeney but heard enough about it from me to understand. Needless to say, they didn't understand at all, no message, no emotion, absolutely nothing. All they did was complain about how "OMG THAT'S SO DUMB! WHY IS SHE IN THE FIRE! WHAT???"

To be honest, the experience shook my faith in the world. If all they could see was a woman burning, and not the meaning and tragedy…I don't know, I just felt horribly upset. I've heard people say this movie was ahead of its time, and my own mother has called me 'an old soul who is insanely mature for her age,' but I have never found such statements to be true before today.

Well, that's where the inspiration came from. I really wanted to devote myself into writing something with meaning, and I do hope I succeeded. In addition, I apologize for how long this note is, but I wanted to let off some steam to some people who might actually understand where I'm coming from. :)

I'm sorry for any spelling mistakes I might have missed. I don't really feel well, and didn't check thoroughly for errors. I really wish I had someone to assist with that :( . Thank you for reading. Please leave a review, because I'm very unsure about how this turned out.


End file.
